


If I Needed You

by enthusiasmgirl



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post-Season/Series 03, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 16:36:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20392798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enthusiasmgirl/pseuds/enthusiasmgirl
Summary: "He wondered if any of what he saw had really happened to him. How could it have? It all seemed so unbelievable. It was easier to think about it as having happened to someone else, or at least as not being that big a deal, really.And so he pretended. He smiled widely at Karen and Matt in the office. Told bad jokes. Let questions go unasked, things go unsaid. He told them everything was fine, willed the fragile heart beating in his chest to not betray the lie, then waited for them both leave for the evening.And then he drank"





	If I Needed You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BeaArthurPendragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaArthurPendragon/gifts).

> So this fic is for Bea, who is someone in the fandom I respect and chat with quite a bit, and so I'm more nervous about this than usual.
> 
> It fills several prompts at once. The first is the one-word prompt "water", and the second is one of my favorite prompts I've ever gotten, the Mad Men quote "You need THREE ingredients for a cocktail. Mountain Dew and vodka is just -- an emergency."
> 
> Finally, the third prompt it fits is the song title which gives the fic its name, If I Needed You by Townes Van Zandt.
> 
> Thanks to Gealach Girl for beta reading. :) 
> 
> I hope that it is well received. <3

Foggy thought it would be easier. To go back to how things used to be. Nelson, Murdock & Page together again as though that second thin napkin, fit maybe to soak up a ring of liquid on a coffee table, could ever be enough to paper over the years of lies and betrayal, the thick unresolved tension between each of them. He'd hoped.

He'd also hoped that now that it was behind them - Fisk, but also Matt's supposed death, Elektra, Frank Castle, all of it - he would finally feel something. Anything. That this abstract something that he knew he had lost when that building fell on Matt, maybe even when he found Matt bleeding out on his apartment floor, would come roaring back inside of him like a warm fire heating him up again after weeks of cold. But it didn't. Instead, he still just felt numb inside. Vacant. 

More recently, since the split second between when Dexter Poindexter had thrown that knife at the Bulletin and Matt's miraculous reflexes had caught it before it pierced his brain, Foggy had the sense of being a spectator watching himself from the outside. Moments that he had relived then, that moment that felt eternal when he was convinced that he'd experienced everything he ever would, kept replaying in front of him.

He saw himself joking with Matt about girls in college. Comforting Karen with jokes about the fish market as they tried to walk a straight line down a sidewalk at 4am. Advising Mrs. Cardenas to do the right thing, and then identifying her body at the morgue later. Telling Matt he would be alright as he was hauled away to the hospital with a bullet in his shoulder. Giving Matt the Daredevil suit in that NYPD precinct. 

Later moments added themselves to the list. The sight of Father Lantom's dead body laying on the church floor. Karen confessing to having killed James Wesley. Celebrating Ray Nadeem's courage with him briefly. How terrified his wife looked in the FBI office.

He wondered if any of what he saw had really happened to him. How could it have? It all seemed so unbelievable. It was easier to think about it as having happened to someone else, or at least as not being that big a deal, really. 

And so he pretended. He smiled widely at Karen and Matt in the office. Told bad jokes. Let questions go unasked, things go unsaid. He told them everything was fine, and willed the fragile heart beating in his chest to not betray the lie, then waited for them both leave for the evening.

And then he drank.

It was unhealthy, he realized. He'd seen enough drunks at the bars, thought to himself how pathetic they could be, understood what substance abuse was. He just didn't care. The drinking, too, became something that seemed like someone else's problem. He floated above it, watching. It wasn't really him. How could it be?

Most nights it was a bar. Not Josie's, not without Matt or Karen although sometimes these days that did happen, blissfully. This bar was nicer. Fancier. It reminded him that he was supposed to be better now, that he had money and prestige and opportunity. The bartender there knew just when to cut him off and order him an Uber, sending him home to Marci, who would sigh softly at him as he stumbled in but wouldn't judge. She'd help him get undressed and put him to bed, ask him tearfully if he wanted to talk about it. But of course he couldn't. It wasn't his life, his trauma, his set of secrets to talk about.

* * *

One night, Foggy found himself alone in the office. Or really the backroom of the butcher shop they were using as a temporary office. Karen had a date, which was surprising. Theo was out with friends. And Matt, Foggy assumed, had gone out to do things he wished he didn't know about, even though it was raining in heavy sheets. It wasn't worth going out. And he didn't feel like it. He never really felt like it. 

So he sat there instead, confused by his own unwillingness to move, but too tired to do anything about it. Eventually, he somehow managed to stumble to where he knew Theo had tucked a mostly-full bottle of peppermint-flavored vodka left over from the family Christmas party. Took a swig and then coughed at how strong it was. Mixed the rest with a can of Mountain Dew from the cooler for customers, hoping it would be less offensive. It wasn't. But he drank it anyway.

He wasn't sure when he ended up crouched over the sink, the smell of artificial mint and lime mixed with his vomit causing him to keep retching between sobs. Or when a strong hand started rubbing his back, and a soft voice started apologizing and telling him everything would be okay. At some point, he must have sunk down to the floor, his back against the cupboard where Theo kept the wax paper and paper bags. He felt a bottle of water being put in his hand, and he looked up to find Matt crouched in front of him. It was just Matt and not Daredevil, and there was a sad look on his face.

"You should drink that. I thought we had some aspirin too," Matt told him, "but I couldn't find it. I have some at my place though. Come on." Matt wriggled an arm behind him to support his back and used the other to attempt to pull him to his feet. He swayed, nauseous, and retched again. Stretched to position himself again over the sink. There was more apologizing, more gentle rubbing. "Stop," he said finally, shoving Matt away. "I'm fine, I'm fine."

"No you're not," Matt told him, and it came out like an attack. 

Foggy sobbed again. "I don't need you," he said. In his state of inebriation, he missed how hurt Matt looked at that.

After a few minutes, he tried to stand again, more successfully. Matt supported him as he tentatively took a few steps towards the front door of the shop. He realized that it was quiet. The rain had stopped. "You need water," Matt said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the bottle Foggy was still holding. Foggy uncapped it and took a swig, pleased to be washing away the aftertaste of his evening. He let Matt lead him slowly, in tense silence, the few blocks to the apartment, accepted his offer of pre-emptive painkillers, and then passed out on the ratty couch.

* * *

The next morning, he woke to the smell of coffee and maple syrup. Matt was already awake and in the kitchen, and greeted him with a soft "good morning" which made Foggy's temples pound like a marching band was beating on them. He groaned. "Sorry," Matt murmured.

"Stop doing that," Foggy said, as he shifted himself with effort into a sitting position. His body ached as his muscles reminded him that Matt's couch was a poor substitute for a bed.

"Doing what?" Matt asked, flipping the pancakes.

"Apologizing," Foggy told him.

"You're right," Matt said, "I'm..." He caught himself. "I know it doesn't matter."

"No," Foggy said, frustrated and still only half conscious. "It matters. I've just heard it before. I know how sorry you are, Matt. About everything. And you know that I've already forgiven you."

"I know," Matt told him. "I guess I just don't understand why."

"Why I've forgiven you?" Foggy asked, confused. "I told you before, we're family, Matt."

"But you don't need me," Matt said angrily, slamming the pan back down on the burner with a thud that made Foggy groan again, then turning them off. "You said that last night, and I knew already. I'm not a pity case, Foggy, and you don't have to drink yourself to death over me out of some misplaced sense of loyalty."

"Wow," Foggy said slowly. "That's vain. Even for you." He watched Matt's face contort with disbelief at the accusation. "Yeah, that's right. What, you just assume that it's only because you're in my life again that it's a mess? That you are the be all and end all of my problems? News flash, buddy, you weren't here to witness the glory of my existence without you."

Matt laughed in disbelief at that. "What, the seven figure position at a good firm? The engagement to Marci? Yeah, you really fell apart without me."

"Is that what you think?" Foggy asked, shocked. 

"It's the truth," Matt told him firmly. "We both know it. It's fine, really."

"No!" Foggy told him, realizing Matt's confusion. "It's not fine. I know I've been saying that it is. And so have you, and so has Karen. But that's bullshit, Matt! It's a lie we've been telling ourselves because we have to."

"Foggy..." Matt tried to interrupt.

"I missed you, Matt. And I needed you, so much. You have no idea. That night at the precinct when everyone else came back through that door and you didn't... I just... it's like..." 

At that, Foggy realized he was crying. In his exhausted, achy, self-loathing state he suddenly felt like a dam he had built was finally collapsing inside of him. "... It's like a part of me died," he continued. "Gone. And now you're back, and I still feel like something is missing, like maybe you came back but whatever I lost didn't. And when I think about everything that has happened. About you and Karen and Marci and how close I came to... to... God, what is wrong with me, Matt?" 

And again, without his even noticing when it happened, there was that feeling of a strong hand on his back. Of being supported. "I need you, Matt," he whispered. "I've always needed you. How could you not know that?"

"You're right," Matt told him. "Of course you need me. I should have known," Matt told him. "I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere."

And as they sat there together, for the first time in a long time, Foggy believed him. And he knew that it was enough, and that everything would be okay.


End file.
